


Only a Matter of Time

by Incoure



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Elias sucks but what else is new, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Demand Found Family, Jon epically fails at basic conversation, Jon needs a break, M/M, Nerds Play D&D, Pining, Slow Burn, Tea at every possible opportunity, Time Travel Fix-It, Two distortions, he's trying his best, so so much pining, what crimes will they commit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-28 22:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30146322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incoure/pseuds/Incoure
Summary: At the end of the world, the Archivist stood watch. He stood and he watched for minutes, for hours, for years, for decades, for a time when time did not exist, he watched.And then he blinked, and Jonathan Sims was back before everything went wrong. He was back, and he had another chance to protect those he cared for, to protect the world.But first, he needs to learn how to act like nothing had changed in the Jon that everyone else knew.Besides the constant fear of death, that part is definitely the most difficult.(Or, Jon gets sent back in time, chaos ensues.)
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Everyone, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 27
Kudos: 152





	1. The Beginning, Once Again

**Author's Note:**

> And so it begins! General warnings for Jon having a low self esteem and not taking great care of himself. Hope you enjoy!

If he had to describe it, Jon would say that traveling through time felt like falling.

It felt like every second you were inches away from death, from the very fabric of the universe tearing you into pieces. A rush of adrenaline pulsed through his veins and sent his heart soaring, stuck in a moment that felt like it was gone too soon and yet would never end. Or at least, he assumed that’s what falling felt like, he was taking some educated guesses.

But it was similar to how he’d always imagined falling to feel like. And much like falling, when he finally reached the ground, it _hurt_. The separation from the Eye was staggering, at first. It felt like a part of him had been torn away, leaving his head swimming and a headache building behind his eyes. When the world changed, the Eye was always there. The constant feeling of being watched Jon had grown so accustomed to wasn’t completely gone, it never was in the Institute. It was comforting, in a strange, awful way. Beholding had always been there, a feeling he could lean on when nothing else made sense. At the very least some things didn’t change when the world ended.

He’d barely been conscious, when he finally reached whatever time frame Beholding had sent him back to. He had, more or less, been given a chance to redo the past few years. He _assumed_ it was around the time when he first started working at the Institute, it seemed counterintuitive to return to a time before that. Of course, the possibility was there that it was later, the Entities worked in mysterious ways. 

Jon supposed the Eye had grown bored in a world where it knew all. There was no new fear in the apocalypse, where everything was known. It’d grown bored, in a weird, perverse sense of the word. Jon was sure a couple of the other Fears had as well, so Beholding chose to let him try it all again. Although he wouldn’t describe Beholding as ever choosing something, it was, after all, not human. Or an Avatar, either. It was something else, far too lifeless to be a god, yet far too alive to just be the work of chance.

He was sure that the Web had preferred the world as it was before the change, but the Web always played by its own rules. The Eye and the Web led him down the strands of the universe, into a time where life flooded his veins and his heart hammered in his chest. God, Jon missed the feeling of being alive. 

With a furious shake of his head that made him stumble forward, clutching his desk furiously, Jon reminded himself that Beholding hadn’t helped him. All of this was only for its own benefit, and even then it barely even did anything. The Entities didn’t feel or think, they just were. They just hungered. 

That thought reminded Jon, vividly, of his own hunger, gnawing at his bones and making his head spin. But, to his surprise, he found it wasn’t just the supernatural sense of Hunger, the deep set need to consume the fear of others, it was real, human hunger. Or as human as Jon’s body could manage. The Hunger was still there, of course, but it was buried under the physical hunger clawing at him. It was a feeling he was, in no way, used to. 

He was back to reality, to the world where time passed and _life_ happened, and it was so incredibly awful and amazing. The Archivist longed to be back to the time where fear was abundant and rich, but Jon, Jon was so relieved for it to be gone. 

He laughed, a sound much more adjacent to a sob when it left his throat, then he felt the world slip away from him and he tumbled forward.

* * *

The first thing Jon saw when he woke up again was a woman he didn’t recognize. A momentary flash of shock passed over her face, which was quickly replaced with worry and relief. She smiled, asking him if he felt okay, explaining that he had been passed out in his office when she found him. 

He’d been laid down on the couch in the break room, and from the look of the light against the windows, it was somewhere near sunset. The woman in front of him had long hair and dark skin, and her smile was soft and friendly. Jon could only stare at her, his body still heavy with exhaustion and hunger. _This was someone he was supposed to recognize_ , he thought weakly. It was only until that moment he saw someone next to the woman.

Someone Jon did recognize. And the pieces fell together, the memory of this particular face still fresh in his mind and his memories. And the realization of why he didn’t remember.

Tim chuckled softly, the same worried and relieved look across his face that was on the woman’s- On… On Sasha’s face. The real Sasha. The one that NotThem had ripped the memory of away. 

Tim said something that Jon didn’t comprehend, still stuck staring at his long dead friends. Except they weren’t dead. They were alive, and they were there in front of him, worried about nothing more than if Jon was hurt. It had _worked_. 

Tim looked at him, and it became clear he wanted an answer to something. So Jon, instantly starting to panic, simply said, “...Huh?”

“Have you been eating and sleeping enough, Jon?” Sasha furrowed her brow, her concerned expression growing, “You seem really out of it.”

Jon wasn’t sure if Sasha would count ‘not having a physical need for food and sleep for an impossible to determine amount of time’ taking care of himself, so he simply shrugged. He definitely felt more tired than he had since the world ended. But again, no physical need for sleep so that was probably a given. 

“I’m… yeah?” Jon, ever the master of eloquence, mumbled, blinking dazedly. He winced at his own voice, the voice Jonah Magnus had chosen to gloat through, to bring the Fears into the world and destroy everything that they knew. He remembered the way it felt, the words forcing themself to his tongue, the feeling of glorious fear when the Entities came through. It might’ve been Jonah that led him to it, but it was _Jon_ that had opened the door. Martin had told him it wasn’t his fault, that Jonah had tricked him into everything. He was just trying to comfort Jon, he knew, but the memory of Martin came back to him, he felt his lips curl into a smile. 

“Where’s… Martin?” Jon cleared his throat, trying to keep the rush of static out of his voice. 

“Out sick.” Tim gave him an odd look, “Has been for a bit more than a week, remember?”

Jon froze, fumbling to find his phone beside his makeshift bed, blankets tangling around his legs. When he turned it on, he saw the date flash in front of his face; March 8th. Martin had been locked in his flat by worms for _8 days, 7 hours, 45 minutes, and 15 seconds_ , Beholding let him Know, information that he would much rather not have been told. Jon rose to his feet, immediately stumbling to stand, then collapsing to the floor again. 

Tim ran over to his side, offering a hand to help him rise again, “Be careful Boss, you should really get some more sleep.”

He pulled himself up, leaning against the wall for comfort. He couldn’t rest, not when Martin was trapped alone in his flat. He cursed, trying to think of the best course of action in this situation. He could hardly stand on his own, he wouldn’t be able to save anyone in this state. But he couldn’t just leave Martin, not when he knew he was scared and alone. He was going to do better this time. He was going to help everyone. 

Jon staggered forward, feeling his head spin at the sudden movement. His vision went hazy, and for a moment, he was worried he was going to faint again. “Could… Could I ask you to get me something to eat?” He tried, his voice still shaky and weak. He needed to stabilize himself before he could be of any help to Martin.

Sasha nodded, “Yeah, Tim and I ordered pizza just a bit ago.”

“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

Tim and Sasha exchanged a glance, clearly confused by how he was acting. He was, quite obviously, doing an awful job of convincing them that he was the same Jon as he was yesterday. 

“Alright, I can go pick that up.” Tim stretched out, “Sash, you can make sure Bossman doesn’t faint again.”

“I’ll be fine-” Jon started, then crossed his arms, trying to emulate how his younger self would react to that, “I-I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sasha snorted, “That’s more like you! We were worried you got replaced by some weird monster that changed all of our memories of you or something.”

Jon must have physically winced at that, because Sasha quickly apologized, the concern returning to her face.

He bit his tongue, mentally cursing himself for making her worried again. When Tim left, Jon found it in his current mission to try to find a statement to record without Sasha noticing. Which was becoming increasingly difficult, seeing as she insisted on following him everywhere to ‘make sure he didn’t die’. Which was frankly ridiculous, seeing as Jon couldn’t die by normal human means (probably), while Sasha could. 

It would take Tim about _10 minutes to reach the pizzeria if he went at 20mph, and 15 to come back, counting that the traffic wasn’t that bad and the line at the pizzeria wasn’t-_ Beholding told him, the only helpful thing it’s ever done. Excluding sending him back in time, of course. 

Regardless, 25 minutes was enough time to record a statement, then get some food when Tim returned, and be able to save Martin before Jane Prentiss had given up in his original timeline. 

“Are you looking for something?” Sasha asked.

Jon sighed, sitting down next to his desk again, “I’m looking for a statement.”

“You just fainted, take a break from work today!”

“It… helps me calm down.” He lied.

She gave him a dubious look, but left the room to get a statement none the less. He sat there, waiting, exhaustion still heavy on him. He didn’t dare to close his eyes for longer than a couple seconds, knowing that he probably would fall asleep the second he did so. He needed to make sure Martin was safe before he could rest. 

Sasha returned with a folder, dropping it on his desk in front of him. He looked up, touching a hand hesitantly to it, the familiar wave of fear rushing off of it. It was intoxicating, the feeling of fear that always rushed around statements. Before he started reading, though, he paused as a thought went through his head. 

What if this was just another one of Jonah Magnus tricks? What if he knew that Jon had come back from the future and he wanted to start the apocalypse? That was absurd, of course. Jon technically only had been marked by the Web, there was no way the Watcher’s Crown could work. 

But what if it didn’t matter if he didn’t have the scars anymore? Jon glanced down at his unscarred arms, shaking with the effort to stay awake. He still had the memories. He still felt the _fear._

He was still a fully realized avatar, he might still be able to end the world. It was something he most definitely didn’t want to test. But Jonah couldn’t know that, could he? The thought wouldn’t go away, however. The ‘what if’s and ‘maybe’s kept spiraling in his mind, the slim chance that everything could go wrong again gripping to him. Jon clenched the paper, his breathing uneven and his eyes unfocused. 

“You alive there?” Sasha questioned, tilting her head. 

“Can you- Can you check this statement for me? Just to make sure it’s not… that it’s…” Jon trailed off, motioning his hands as if that explained his point.

“Like proofread it? Why?”

“I-uh… yes.”

She huffed in amusement, taking a step closer to the desk. “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Sasha read over the statement anyway, her eyes focused and her body still. After a couple minutes that felt like forever, she placed it down again, “Seems like normal statement weirdness, don’t really know what you wanted me to look over it for.”

“Thank you Sa-Sasha.” He stumbled over the name, the unfamiliarity of this woman seeming so different from the one he’d known for so long. This was the real Sasha James, the unfamiliarity of her sending a jolt of guilt to his stomach. 

Jon turned the statement over in his hand, the gentle whirring of a tape recorder settling into the back of his mind. And then he began to read.

* * *

Sasha noticed that Jon definitely seemed to calm down after recording a statement. His hands still shook, and he could still only walk slowly with something or someone to support him, but he seemed better. She decided that as soon as Tim came back with pizza, she was going to make Jon get some rest. 

He wasn’t in great shape most of the time, he always kind of looked like he was about to fall asleep at any given moment, but it was especially bad today. He must’ve been staying at the Archive too late to get work done, which was hardly a reason to neglect his health. 

Sasha could feel her streak of overprotectiveness coming over her, something she’d probably gotten from hanging around Martin for too long. Jon might be a jerk, but he was their jerk, and she couldn’t let him deprive himself of sleep. Martin would agree with her on that, at least, which only slightly had to do with his massive (and extremely confusing) crush on Jon. Plus Martin was just nice like that. Too pure for this world. 

Tim came back only a couple minutes later, carrying a couple boxes of pizza in one arm, “Food’s here!”

“Pizza, pizza, pizza!” Sasha chanted enthusiastically. 

As he looked up from his arms, which he’d been running his fingers across methodically, Jon mumbled, “Welcome back.”

Once pizza was served, the three of them began to eagerly dig in. Sasha and Tim exchanged casual conversation over their food, Jon choosing to stay silent. 

He still seemed pretty out of it, eyes unfocused and his thin frame shaking slightly. He practically jumped at every tiny sound, instantly scanning the room for the source. He’d always been paranoid, but never quite to this extent. Sasha wondered if there was more of a reason Jon had fainted than what he told them, as if he said anything about it at all.

Tim, almost like he read her mind, asked him casually, “So Boss, how’d you faint again?”

“Don’t call me Boss, it’s weird.” He said sharply, but his gaze was fond and nostalgic. 

“Sure Boss.”

“And if you must know, it was just… Uhh… I forgot to breathe?” Jon glanced over, rubbing his arms again.

“Really.” Sasha deadpanned, deciding that Jon couldn’t lie to save his own life. “You forgot to breathe.”

He nodded, finishing the rest of his fourth slice of pizza. Then he stood up, still leaning against the wall for support. “Do either of you know where the fire extinguisher is?” 

“The fire extinguisher? Why do you need that?” Tim squinted at Jon, finishing his food as well. 

He shook his head, staring off at a wall. “Oh, never mind. I found it.” 

Tim crossed his arms, “Where are you going? Don’t think we’re gonna let you go back to work after you _literally fainted._ ” 

But he was gone, wandered off to somewhere else in the Institute. Sasha had absolutely no clue what he needed a fire extinguisher for, or why he was acting so weird. Maybe he hit his head, and that was what caused him to blackout, maybe he was just that sleep deprived. 

“Tsk. Jerk.” Tim grumbled, crossing his arms. 

Sasha sighed, “We gonna try to get him to rest or just go home and not worry about it?”  
“Well he’s even more stuck up and annoying when he hasn’t slept, so I vote to make Jon take a goddamn break.”

Just as they were talking, Jon returned, clutching a fire extinguisher to his chest, “ _Where does Martin live?_ ”

A rush of static filled Sasha’s ears and she quickly replied, almost in sync with Tim. A brief look of guilt and fear passed over Jon’s face, and he quickly apologized, “I’m sorry, god, I didn’t mean to-”

“What-” Sasha began, but was quickly cut off by Tim.

“You aren’t going to kill Martin, right?”

“What? Good heavens, no. That would be extremely counter productive.” Jon shook his head, still clutching the fire extinguisher

“...Did you just make a joke?”

He gave a wry smile, “That’s up for interpretation.”

That earned a suspicious squint from Tim, who took a long sip of a coffee cup Jon was almost entirely sure was not there five minutes ago. Not to mention, it was almost eight in the evening, hardly any time for coffee. Not that Jon had any right to judge others for drinking caffeine late at night.

“Okay, so we’re going to Martin’s flat?” Sasha rose to her feet, grabbing her purse and heading for the door. 

“Well I- I’m going.” Jon blinked a couple times, flustered.

“One; you look like you’re about to pass out. Two; you haven’t entirely convinced us you’re not going to kill Martin. We’re going with you, non negotiable.”

“Why on Earth would I kill him? He’s my…” Jon muttered, then paused for a moment, “My co-worker.”

“Got it, it’s decided. We’re gonna check up on Martin, maybe we can take him some soup!” Tim grinned, and followed Sasha to the door. 

“Should we text Martin to let him know we’re coming?” Sasha put her hands on her hips, “He seemed pretty against anyone visiting from his text messages, actually.”

Jon staggered forward, nearly dropping the fire extinguisher, his words determined, yet quiet, “No. Don’t text him.”

“...Okay that’s _ominous._ ” Tim chuckled nervously. 

He blinked a couple times, “Was it?”

“Yes, most definitely. Now, let’s go, Sasha’s driving.”

She scowled, playfully swatting at Tim, despite the fact she had already planned on driving. Once the three of them clambered into the car, Tim immediately put on some music, something loud and carefree, much like him. Jon still refused to tell them why he had a fire extinguisher, but that was expected. They arrived in the parking lot of Martin’s flat, and Jon insisted on going in alone. 

“Okay but if you’re not back in thirty minutes, we’re coming in.” Sasha finally relented, watching Jon wander in intently. 

Tim pressed his hands into the car seat, his smile soft and light, but his voice was heavy with anticipation and worry, “Guess we wait now, huh?”


	2. Rescue, Recovery, and Other Ramifications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon manages to save someone, but doesn't manage to safe himself from his own awkwardness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter include a couple mentions of worms, poor self-worth, and some description of statement-ish violence. Stay safe!

Martin didn’t know what time it was. 

He never knew, trapped here in his flat, curled up into a ball, as far from the door as he could manage. The knocking filled his mind, the steady pounding against his flat door. He didn’t want to answer. He knew what was beyond that door, he knew that the worms would be waiting there, he knew that they would bury into his flesh like they had that woman, Jane Prentiss. He remembered the statements about her, about how the insects drew here in and-

Martin shuddered, wishing he could stop thinking about it. He was alive in that moment, not quite safe, but _alive_. That was enough. It had to be enough until someone saved him, or her found a way to escape. 

He wondered if anyone was worried about him. He didn’t think his mum would be all too concerned if he stopped calling or messaging her. She would be glad to rid herself of the annoyance.

As a shuddering breath rolled over him, Martin shook his head fervently. This wasn’t the time to worry about what his mum thought of him, he had plenty of other things to worry about right now. He knew worrying wouldn’t help with anything, but his brain wouldn’t let himself think of anything else. 

“Okay… Okay. I’m okay.” He said aloud, his quiet words echoing in the almost silence of the dark flat. Except that _damned knocking_. 

And then it stopped. 

“Archivist?” A feminine voice asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Jane Prentiss. **Leave.** ” Another voice demanded, one oddly familiar. It was hard to tell over all of the static that had filled Martin’s mind, but it sounded like…Jon?

With a strangled grumble, the first voice shouted back, words sharp with hostility, “He’s mine, find your own victims.” 

Martin shuffled a little closer to the door, still wary. There was a metallic click, then the room was filled with a strong _whooshing_ , and Jon(?) spoke again, cold harshness over his voice, “Leave now, or I’ll make you.”

“Fine. I’ll go. Have your assistant back, but I’m not done with him yet.” 

Then there was silence for what felt like hours. Martin held his breath, watching the door intently. 

“Martin?” Jon called, his voice now soft and gentle, “It’s me, Martin.”

“J-Jon?” Martin hated how tiny and weak he sounded, the barest hint of hope in his mind.

“Yes. Yes it’s me.” He sighed in relief, his breathing heavy and labored.

Martin went over to the door of his flat, hesitating, “Is it safe out there?”

“Huh? Oh yes, just… just a couple dead worms.” 

He unlocked the door, trying to ignore how bad his hands were shaking. He was almost safe. He could see the sunlight and be around others. He could eat something other than _canned peaches_. 

Jon was standing outside, an unsteady smile over his lips. He clutched a fire extinguisher, to his chest, his eye practically glowing in the dark of night. He was leaning against the wall for support, and he took a deep breath, watching Martin with the happiest expression Martin had ever seen on his boss. 

“H-hello.” Jon breathed, his eyes still intently on _Martin_.

“What’s with the fire extinguisher?” He blurted out, the very first rational thought that came to his mind.

“It’s good against… the worms.” He gestured over to a pile of dead worms, covered in CO2 and twitching slightly. 

“Ah.”

“We should probably go to the car. Tim and Sasha are waiting for us.” Jon rushed out, and Martin was inclined to agree with him.

When they finally reached the car Jon was referring to, Tim stepped out, surprise over his features, “Martin? I thought you were terribly ill?”

“Let’s-” Jon’s statement was broken off by a yawn, which Martin decided reminded him a lot of a cat, “-Explain back at the Institute. Long story. I assume.”

Jon hopped into the back of the car, seating his fire extinguisher he was still protectively carrying next to him. Martin decided to follow him, and Tim clambered back in as well. 

“Jon, how’d you know that CO2 would kill the worms?” Martin questioned, tilting his head to him.

“The _what_?” Sasha practically exclaimed, her shock seconded by Tim. 

“Mmmm…” Jon replied, closing his eyes, “Lucky guess I ‘spose.”

“ _Worms_?” Tim breathed, looking over at Sasha as if she had the answer.

Martin assumed Jon fell asleep after that, his breathing steadying. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, his fingers twitching occasionally and his eyelids fluttering. His face was smushed up against the fire extinguisher he’d had his arms wrapped around, his glasses slightly skewed to the side. He mumbled in his sleep. 

“Hey Boss?” Tim asked, as if confirming he was actually asleep, “He’s been really weird today. Ever since he fainted early, he’s just been acting really different.”

“He fainted?” Martin scrunched his brow, concern painted across his face.

Sasha laughed quietly, glancing at the other three in the car for only a second before returning her eyes to the road, “I guess we all have a lot to catch up on.”

“Most definitely.”

“So, how’s your time away from work been?”

Martin chuckled sourly, “Pretty awful, actually. I got trapped in my flat by worms.”

“By _worms_?” Tim sounded incredulous. 

“Evil worms, the kind that kills people.”

Sasha spoke in the same quiet tone that Tim and Martin were talking in, so they didn’t wake Jon. “Shit, that sounds awful, I’m sorry Martin.”

“Yeah well… There’s no way you could’ve known.” Martin sighed, glancing back at Jon sleepy soundly, “I don’t know how Jon figured out.”

“Again, really weird today.” Tim smiled, clearly trying to lighten the mood, “He tried claiming that he fainted because he ‘forgot to breathe’ earlier.”

Martin snorted, “Of course he did.”

“Low key, wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t coming to murder you when he found a fire extinguisher then asked where you lived.”

“Worms! Wow.” Sasha breathed quietly, “This job just keeps getting weirder.”  
.  
Martin sighed deeply, “Tell me about it.”

The car stopped in front of the Magnus Institute, standing tall with fluorescent lights in the dark of night. Martin gently stirred Jon, trying to get him to wake. He grumbled, wrapping himself further around the fire extinguisher. 

“We should probably just carry him, he definitely looks like he needs his rest.” Sasha noted.

Tim carefully slid the fire extinguisher out of Jon’s arms, carrying it in his own, “Martin, you carry him, you’re the strongest.”

“W-What? Why me?” Martin stammered, “I don’t think he’d want me to-”

“Even so, I worry if we wake him he won’t go back to sleep.” Sasha sighed, “And he’s definitely not going to stay here in my car all night.”

“That’s right, spending the night in Sasha’s car is my right and my right alone.” Tim crossed his arms, jokingly.

“That was _one_ time, plus I was there with you.”

“I’m still not carrying Jon!” Martin broke in, sure his face was about as pink as Tim’s awfully bright Hawaiian print shirt, the one with the tiny flamingos with sunglasses on it.

Tim and Sasha only stared at him dubiously, and Martin relented. He slid his arms under Jon’s knees, surprised by how light he was. When he was in his arms, Jon leaned into Martin, grabbing onto his shirt. 

“Bridal carry, nice Martin.” Tim grinned obnoxiously, and Martin regretted ever telling him about his minor crush on Jon. Definitely only a little crush. For sure. 

Martin’ felt his face flush deeper, and he scowled, “S-Shut it.”

The three of them stepped into the Institute and greeted Rosie, who was looking oddly at them. It occurred to Martin that that was probably because he was carrying a sleeping Jon, it was far too late to be coming back to work, and Tim had just placed the fire extinguisher next to the wall, giving some vague explanation about ‘needing it for something’. Rosie chuckled awkwardly, but let them pass without questioning it. Martin was glad Rosie put up with them.

Martin placed Jon down on the couch, and then went to make some tea for the others. Making tea always helped calm him down when he was stressed. They all agreed to wait to explain the full story for tomorrow when Jon was awake. Despite the fact he had saved Martin, he couldn’t know how he got stuck in his flat, of course. 

Sasha and Tim headed home soon after that, agreeing to be back at work immediately in the morning. They’d both offered to let Martin say at their flats for the night, but he had refused. He didn’t want to impose, and after all, someone needed to make sure Jon was okay.

Martin just wanted some time by himself, if he was being honest. He’d spent nearly two weeks so incredibly alone, and yet he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to just talking and spending time with people quite yet. Too abrupt of a change, he supposed. Too many nights spent waiting for someone to rescue him. He was safe now, he’d been rescued. It was still a shock to Martin, that Jon had come to his rescue. He’d just about given up to the fact no one was coming to save him, and then someone did. 

Even if the only couch in the Archive wasn’t occupied, Martin didn’t think he’d be able to sleep. 

He kept seeing illusions of little silvery bodies in the corner of his eye, squirming and waiting to bury under his skin. He thought he could smell the putrid stink of rot in the air a couple times, but when he searched the room, it’d be completely worm free. Martin resigned himself to sitting on the floor next to Jon’s sleeping figure, watching the door for the crawling demons. He watched city lights out of the window, flickering against the night sky. His chest felt heavy, the adrenaline of the time locked in his flat starting to wear off. He leaned his head against the bookcase, filled with statements and other various papers. 

A tape recorder had appeared next to Jon’s bedside. Martin swore it wasn’t there before, but it could’ve slipped his mind. He ran a finger over the speaker, humming softly.

And he kept waiting, till the sky turned grey with the first gentle touches of the sun, until the world began to rise once again. Just like he’d waited alone in his flat for so long, for Jane Prettiss to leave, Martin waited, alone in the dark, for something to change.

He’d done far too much waiting in his life.

* * *

The Archivist watched. 

The Archivist watched as Naomi Herne stumbled through her dreams of the Lonely, the pressing nothingness that wrapped its fingers around her. He watched Melanie King as she dreamt of the fear at the sight of Sarah Baldwin peeling the skin off of her arm. He watched as Georgie Barker saw a woman that was supposed to be dead stumble towards her. He watched everything, soaking up the fear from every statement that was ever given to him. It didn’t matter if he hadn’t been given the statement in this timeline yet, he _Knew_ it. It was given to him once, and so the Archivist Knew it, unable to ever forget it.

He watched, as his body slept, cursed to only See and Know, and never to do anything. He couldn’t save anyone. He was just a monster. The Archivist didn’t care, he flourished in the pain and fear. A malevolent monster, covered in eyes, watching those that had given him a statement as they relived the worst days of their life over and over again.

Jon bolted upright, clutching his blanket in his hands. He was fine. He was fine, he was fine, he was fine. 

But the memory of Georgie’s face came back to him, the confusion and worry in her eyes when she saw him. He hated it, he hated being the Archivist. He hated the fear, the way it scared the people he loved, he hated how _good_ it felt. 

He hated the fact it was all his fault the world had ended. 

As Jon drew a shuddering breath, he noticed Martin watching him, concerned. They stared at each other for a moment, the room still lit only by the dim light of the rising sun. 

“Jon?” Martin asked, barely over a whisper, “Are you okay?”

“I, uh- Yes. Yes I’m quite fine.” Jon cleared his throat.

“Nightmare?”

“Something like that.” He picked his glasses up from the desk beside him, wincing as the cold frames touched his face. “ **Why are you** \- Y-You’re awake.”

Martin breathed, pulling his knees to his chest, “I couldn’t sleep.” 

“O-Oh right. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you earlier.”

That statement was greeted with a fond smile that made Jon’s chest ache, and Martin spoke again, exasperation lacing his words, “For heaven’s sake, Jon, you still saved me. Give yourself some credit.” 

“But I-”

“Nope. You’re taking this compliment, whether you want to or not.”

Jon’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, as he watched Martin’s eyes sparkle in the dim lighting. Jon wished nothing more than to kiss Martin in that moment, to wrap his arms around him like they had in the apocalypse. He’d missed him so much, the small touches and easy banter, everything. But he knew this Martin wasn’t his Martin, this was a different version of him, one that hadn’t been through everything the future had. Or the older future version of him. This version would never have to go through the same experiences he had, Jon would make sure of it. He would survive. All of them would. 

It struck Jon once again the weight of what he’d done. He had a chance to redo the past few years all over again. Or the future few years? Time travel was confusing. 

He would need to make sure Melanie didn’t take a job in the Institute, stop NotThem from replacing Sasha, he had so much he needed to make sure didn’t happen. At least they didn’t need to worry about the Unknowing, but not participating might make Elias- Jonah, suspicious. And Jon needed to find a way to kill Jonah without hurting those employed to him. That was most definitely the top priority. 

“Do you want some tea?” Martin asked, starting to stand up, “Unless you want to go back to sleep-”

Jon shook his head, “No, no, I’m not going back to sleep. Tea sounds lovely.”

“Alright, I’ll be back soon.”

Martin walked over to the side of the room, to go make the tea presumably, and Jon took this opportunity to make a list. He dotted down a couple vague notes on the little notebook he found, careful not to write anything suspicious, so as to not alert Jonah about the fact he knew more than he should. The uncertainty of whether his memory of the fears still counted as marks weighed on him heavily. He sighed, wishing for once in his life, things could make sense. Supernatural stuff was so convoluted. 

He pressed his arm to the desk, marveling at the unscarred skin. It kept mystifying him, his own unmarked arms. He’d grown so used to the rough burns on his hand, the faint memories of pain whenever he slid his fingers across the various healed over stab wounds. It was frankly ridiculous, the fact Jon had had _multiple_ stab wounds across his arms. The idea that he attracted danger was an understatement. Martin remained silent, across the room, busying himself with the tea making. 

Martin finished only a couple of minutes later, placing the cup down on the coffee table next to him. Jon took it gratefully, barely waiting for it to cool before he took a sip. As Martin sat down on the other side of the couch, he pressed his hands to his own mug, rubbing his fingers against the presumably hot surface.

Next to Jon, Martin started slowly, “So-”

“I suppose you want to know how I knew that you were locked in your flat.” Jon finished hastily. 

“Well, yes, but I was wondering how you were doing?”

Martin’s kindness never ceased to amaze Jon. He blinked a couple times, reminding himself that humans are supposed to breathe regularly. Before he could respond, however, Martin continued, “After Tim said you fainted yesterday, plus you seemed really tired and there was that nightmare, I don't mean to pry I was just worried about you and-”

“Martin.” Jon looked at him, a light smile playing across his lips, “You definitely do not need to be worrying about me, especially since you were just _locked in your flat by worms._ ” 

He breathed out a long sigh, his ginger curls falling across his face in a way Jon thought was very cute, but Martin didn’t respond, blue eyes focused on the floor in front of him.

“You’re… not doing great I assume.” Jon asked, tightening his grip on the ceramic mug. 

“I’ve… I’ve been better.” Martin looked tired, about as tired as Jon was sure he looked.   
The sun cascaded a little more light into the Archive as it continued its path above the city. Jon knew what Martin meant. Nothing was perfect right now, but they would be okay. Maybe not good all the time, but okay. 

Because, after all, a world where Jon wasn’t able to hold Martin and comfort him like he wanted was endlessly better than a world without him. And then, sitting across from Martin, his face stuffed into his mug of tea, Jon promised himself he wouldn’t lose Martin.

Not again.

* * *

It took awhile to explain the whole situation to Sasha and Tim. And Jon, for that matter, but he kept nodding and making comments, as if he already knew the whole story. Which was absurd, of course, but Martin couldn’t shake the feeling. 

Tim and Sasha had been horrified by the story, saying that they would’ve come help him if they knew. Apparently they’d all been receiving text messages from his phone number, claiming he had a ‘parasite’. Martin shivered, recalling the pressing horde of worms that had squirmed under his door frame and through his windows. 

On the topic of Jon, he’d been _different_ since Martin returned. He looked the same as he did a couple weeks ago, umber skin, his prematurely greyed hair, his gaunt frame. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. 

His eyes were different.

It wasn’t something Martin was completely sure of, he’d never really paid much attention to Jon’s eyes, but he could’ve sworn they were brown before. Like caramel and chocolate, mottled with flicks of gold that were only visible when light caught on them, cascading glitter over his irises. Okay so maybe Martin had paid a bit of attention to Jon’s eyes. 

But now, now they were a striking green, the kind that almost looked artificial with how bright they were. The kind of green that bore into you with its intensity, like lightning and the soft light morning against spring grass. Either way, Jon starting to wear colored contacts definitely didn’t mean he’d been replaced by some eldritch monster. 

_God_ , Martin was getting paranoid. 

He still kept seeing Jane Prentiss’s silhouette in the corner of his vision, and flinching when he heard someone knocking on the door. There was a can of peaches in the corner of the storage room. Martin had seen it when he went in there to find something to cover the windows and door frames in the Archives. 

Martin wasn’t sure he’d be able to eat canned peaches anytime soon.

After everything had been explained, and Jon evaded any questions about how he knew about Jane Prentiss, Martin found him in the break room. 

“What are you working on?” Martin asked slowly, watching him struggle with what looked like a simple cot he’d hauled behind a house plant, which he mumbled annoyedly about it ‘being spoiled’. 

“I thought it’d be a better place for you to sleep on than that awful couch.” Jon clarified, finally managing to make it stand on its own. 

“Oh! Right! Is that… okay with you?” Martin trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“Of course, I couldn’t ask you to return to your flat after…” With a wide gesture of his arms, Jon continued, focusing intently on something behind Martin, “I’ll see if I can get Elias to get some more CO2 fire extinguishers in the Archive.”

“That would be… that would be good.” Martin sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes, his glasses skewing slightly to the side. 

When he finally looked up again, Martin noticed Jon was staring at him. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted as he watched with an unblinking gaze. 

“I- Do I have something on my face?” He asked nervously, his face heating up.

“What? Oh! Uh, no! You just have-“ Jon waved his arms around again, as if that explained anything, then continued slowly, “You have a- a face. It’s. Not bad.”

Martin turned a bright shade of red, trying to process what on Earth Jon was talking about. Before he could, however, Jon continued, already making his way to his office, “Anyway I’m going to work on… work. Because this is work. Yes.”

And with that he slammed (Although maybe slammed was a bit of an exaggeration) the door behind him, and Martin stared at it, trying to stop himself from falling over. 

“Tim, Tim.” Martin turned to the man in question as he entered the room, “Tim you’re not going to believe this.”

“Sure Marto, what’s up?” 

With an ungraceful _flop_ , Martin sat down on the couch in the break room, glancing at the two empty cups of tea from earlier. He buried his face in his hands, his voice hushed, “Is it just me or is Jon acting weird? Not to gossip about him or anything-”

Tim snorted, crossing his arms, “Well I am here to gossip, he’s been seriously weird since yesterday.”

“He, uh, he said my face was ‘not bad’.” 

There was a moment of silence, before Tim laughed loudly, and Martin hushed him, watching Jon’s door intently. “Sorry, sorry, Marto, I just- _Wow_ , Jon is shit at flirting.”

Martin’s face turned red again, and he cursed how easily he blushed, “He wasn’t _flirting!_ ”

“Sure, sure of course.”

“Tim-”

“Oh? Are we bullying Martin?” Sasha poked her head through the door, grinning.

“I hate you both.” He pressed, his words light and friendly, though stained with playful exasperation. 

“You love us, we know. Also, we’re going for drinks tonight, right?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Tim snapped his fingers, smiling at Sasha.

Martin sighed, “It’s probably better than staying here all day, sounds like a plan.”

“Wonder if we could get Jon to join us…”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, he has a lot of work he needs to catch up on,” The man himself responded, pushing his door open with the arm not full of files, “Speaking of work, I have some files I want you all to follow up on.” 

“Come on, it’ll be fun! You should take a break for once!”

“Mhm, sounds lovely.” Jon said dismissively, still looking over his piece of paper.

An audible groan came from Tim, but Jon only clutched the paper, and Martin noticed it almost looked like his hands were shaking, “I- uh. Sasha… Can you?”

“Read over the statement again? I mean sure, but I don’t entirely get why.”

“I- Just a precaution.”

As Sasha took the paper and scanned over it, the room fell into silence. Martin took this opportunity to stare at- no, not stare at, to _observe_ , Jon. His eyes were tired, as he watched the floor nervously. A strand of hair slipped out from behind his ear, and Martin felt the desire to push it back in place. But instead he just watched, as Jon idly rubbed it between his fingers. 

“It’s all clear Boss, not sure what I’m looking for, but it seems normal enough.” Sasha handed the statement back, “Pretty creepy though.”

“Ah, thank you.” And with that Jon returned back to his office. 

“...What was that about.” Tim asked in a hushed voice.

Sasha shrugged, “He asked me to do that before we went to Martin’s flat last night, he won’t explain why.” 

“Huh.”

Martin watched the door to Jon’s office, tuning out whatever conversation Sasha and Tim had started. He tensed as a single silvery worm crept by the side of his vision, and he pushed himself away. Sasha looked over, shouting something that barely registered with Martin. 

Even hours after the creature was long dead, Martin didn’t stop spinning to meet every noise; every knock on wood or flicker of the lights sending a spiral of panic through him. There was something heavy in the air, there was something dangerous coming.

And Martin found it harder and harder to shake the sense that Jon _knew_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon, for the life of him, doesn't know how to have a normal human conversation. My man is incredibly suspicious.

**Author's Note:**

> Jon and his fire extinguisher, together forever. <3


End file.
